


Jackson

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Concerts, Duets, Gen, Music, Performances, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Briana and Jensen sing Jackson at JIB
Kudos: 4





	Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> Fictional, obviously. Also, this is written from Briana's first-person point of view.

Look, I know we work well together. I get it. I’m all too aware. Maybe even a little too aware. Screen or stage, it doesn’t matter where we are. When the two of us are together, filming, singing, or just kickin’ back and havin’ a few drinks, everyone in the room feels it. Call it what you want, but whatever it is, it’s palpable.

I’m not quite sure where it started either. Maybe it was that gag reel. Those fuckin’ donuts, man. Jensen’s a pro when it comes to comedy. He’s taught me a thing or two. I never realized it until he pointed it out on set a few months ago. A reel of our outtakes would last hours. I wish I had one. You know, for the rougher days. Especially now.

I know our personas on the show have a platonic BFF thing going on. But off screen, things definitely took a turn at JIB that year we sang _Shallow_. I’ll never forget it. It was Jensen's idea. In fact, he was the one that insisted I lay down an album. Never in a million years did I think I’d get back to my original dream.

But you know how Jensen can be. Persuasive and supportive and charming. I’m no dummy, I know what I look like when I look at him. And I know that gleam in his eyes, the hint of that confident smirk. And dammit, do I _definitely_ know what I look like when he looks at me like that. It’s gotta be subconscious. We don't mean anything by it. We’re like family. He’s another big brother to me, and I’m a second little sister to him.

Not sure why my mind wandered there of all places. Nerves. Rome's not a huge gig, but it's a special one. After last year, we wanted to keep up the duet. And yet, as I stared at the sliver of blinding light between the curtains at the top of the stairs, I couldn’t help but think about—

"Ready, Buckmaster?"

Like struck glass, my rambling thoughts shattered into a million tiny glittering pieces, shimmering as they faded to nothing. Though darkness encompassed us both, I knew Jensen stood beside me. A deep breath steadied my heart. “Yeah.” A hard swallow caught my voice. "Yeah, I'm good."

“You’re in your head is what you are,” Jensen retorted. “What’s got your tongue?”

Despite my best efforts, I sounded far more unsure than I felt. “Nothing… just… last minute practice. You know. In here. Not that that makes any sense.”

Jensen scoffed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Of course it does." He paused. "Nervous?"

Stalled. I never stalled. "I… don't know," I stuttered. "Maybe? Couldn't really tell ya. Been a hot minute since I last felt any sort of nerves."

"I hear you," he said with a squeeze of his arm. The din of the tiny convention room filled the silent void between us until he shifted. From my shoulders to my hand, the warmth of his grasp slid into my palm. "You know what to do. Eyes on me. Nobody else is there." He paused once more as a cast member introduced us. “It's just you, me, and the music.”

With a reassuring squeeze of his hand, I said, "Right. Music. Us. That's it." Careful steps carried me up the stairs to the stage. Jensen trailed behind, his hand still clasped in mine as I turned over my shoulder and said, "Let's do this."

The sliver of light widened and revealed Jensen's brilliant smile as I pulled the curtain aside. "Go git it, sister."

Like a dial on a speaker, the dull roar of the crowd cranked to eleven and slammed into my chest with all the force of a speeding truck. And in that moment, with Jensen trailing behind me, tension seeped from my shoulders. The twitch in my fingers settled as I wrapped them around my mic. The uneasy flutter in my stomach quieted as I grasp the stand. And the lights. Thank god for those lights, brighter than the noon-day sun. A sea of black and white spread out before me, silhouettes in an endless ocean. Calm. Sweet, sensational calm.

The rhythm section drowned out the crowd, started without warning. That churning beat and strumming guitar drove the opening bars right on into the chorus, and so, we sang.

_We got married in a fever  
Hotter than a peppered sprout  
We’ve been talkin’ ‘bout Jackson  
Ever since the fire went out_

_Yeah I’m goin’ to Jackson  
I'm gonna mess around  
Yeah I'm goin' to Jackson  
Look out Jackson town_

The gig always felt different than rehearsals. No matter all my prep, it still felt entirely different. Granted we only ever sang to tracks in our practice, but that was enough for Jensen. He was a natural talent. He didn't even need to try. And maybe the first couple of runs I tried to live up to some crazy uncommunicated expectation I thought he had of me. But another one of Jensen's many talents is reading people like open books.

Memories of those rehearsals flooded my mind as I turned to him and sang my verse.

_Well go on down to Jackson  
Go ahead and wreck your health  
Go play your hand you big-talkin' man  
Make a big fool of yourself  
Yeah, go to Jackson  
Go comb your hair_

He always let me ruffle his hair.

 _Honey, I'm gonna snowball Jackson_.

He always winked.

_See if I care._

Something about the live shows hooks me so hard into the moment that I forgot to experience them. Forgot to be in the moment. I get caught up in the performance, get the lyrics right, don't get too creative, no obnoxious arpeggios or ridiculous embellishments. Keep the audience engaged, breathe, breathe again, long line, don't forget to breathe. Breathe, Briana. God dammit, breathe.

_When I breeze into that city  
People gonna stoop and bow_

_HA!_

His dark glare snapped to me, accompanied by a mischievous grin. By the middle of his verse, he towered over me, that glare far more devious than it had started.

_All them women gonna make me  
Teach 'em what they don’t know how  
Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson  
You turn-a loose-a my coat  
'Cause I'm goin' to Jackson_

No acting class can teach you how to push away from an attractive man as you sing to his face.

_‘Goodbye,” that's all she wrote!_

My turn.

_But they'll laugh at you in Jackson  
And I’ll be dancing’ on a Pony Keg  
They’ll lead you ‘round town like a scolded hound  
With your tail tucked between your legs,  
Yeah, go to Jackson, you big-talkin’ man.  
And I’ll be waitin’ in Jackson  
Behind my Japan Fan_

Another run at the chorus reunited our voices. Enough voices to be heard in the audience joined us, too. _Jackson_ wasn’t just a song to me; it was a story. On the surface, it sounds like a quarreling couple who married too fast and in the midst of lust rather than love. But then we sang together.

_Yeah, we’re goin’ to Jackson  
Ain’t never comin’ back_

_Jackson_ reignited their love. In the end, they found each other in Jackson. And that’s the story I love to tell.

Jensen finished the song in casual Johnny Cash fashion and the accompanying rhythm section faded away, overwhelmed by the crowd cheering and clapping.

And just like that it was over. Another gig in the books. Jensen smiled, waved, kissed the top of my head. And I hugged him the only way I could, around his waist like a kid sister.

Because, despite the way it always looked, that was all we’ve ever been. Big brother. Kid sister.

Kindred spirits telling stories with song.


End file.
